Maddness Season
by Kasan Soulblade
Summary: There are surfaces best left untouched, curiousities unsatiated, but for those with guts there is a door to the lower levels, but it's locked. The key needed is madness, the lock it hate hard, bitter crafted. Second story: Willing. Star Wolf Archive
1. By Degree 1

Maddness Season

_Author's Note:_

_To my readers, _

_This is an archive of old, odd, StarFox stories I found while chapter diving a few nights ago. Some have relevence to the old fic "Euthinasia", some do not, most are random character studies. Regardless, pleasent reading._

_Kasan Soulblade_

By Degree: Intro: 60 flat.

_Per the Cornerian constitue all public locations must make accomidations for all spiecies. (Ie: Ex: In consideration of those born with cold blood a room must be left at 85 degree ferinhieght)_

_Cornerian multi specie coexistant act: page 1, paragraph 2._

Mercury crept up like a tide, a thread of fire, always striving forward and up, but slowly, like a tepid tragedy that the furless apes called soap opera it crawled, the leading edge folding amongst itself on during the climb up.

From dream to waking, to the waking dream, he slid through the currents of his life while the cold stole the edge of his thoughts and his claws gropped at the wall, seeking to make the thread of quicksilver live up to it's name.

XXX

No, please!" Rough dexterous paws closed over his wists, and though he winced from the ontat it galvanized his desperation. HAte and loe were aever a potent blend for him. "Don't!"

He struggled forward, those hands with thier course, hot, pads held him back. Satisfied he was secure one of his assailents steppd past him, walked into a thin beam of light...

-The only light he'd dared permit!-

...and he saw.

Enlongated muzzles choked with fur, seamless blue uniforms with Cornerian insignas, a glint of polished copper to allude to military rank.

His snout curled in distate at such snippits and thier unwelcome revelation. A hiss escaped as he at last recognized his captors. In response to his "hostility" the beast to his back tightened it's grip. He hissed a second time, this time in pain. The scent and heat... and the miasma of hair... the imput was making his stomach writhe. But his discomfort was nothign compared to the festering pain. Emotion so violent it must be conained swelled and stirred within, pressing agasint the walls of his reason.

Light glinted of the steel hued snout of a blaster, his heart wich had lurched forward full speed due to th adrenaline's demands went still a that threat. Looking past the muzzle, in the gloom of his subteranian lair he couldn't see, for the glint of light on steel's edge.

But, despite beign blind he could sense, intent, motion, and what he sensed caused him to fight for what little he was worth.

"No, she's just hatched, less than an hour old..." He screeched. "You... you can' just shoot her!"

Such was his desperation that he threw both himself and his captor forward a few steps. With a growl to his back as warning he was sheeled back into the dark. The figure, it's silloute once illuminated by the thread of light ducked back into the dark, going deeper into the den. He caught a glimpse of sleashy fur drapped features, of tear wet eyes, than nothing save an outline cast in hot reds and oranges as he forgoed sight and saught seeing in the infrared.

Still... he recalled the details. A long snout with a black nosed tip. Fleash that dripped down the muzzle due to a surpluss of epidurmis' growth, a yellow fang tip poking out from one exuberant fold of "lip". Fur the color of brittle wood, so short it gave the illusion of being frizzed, no static electricty required.

_That_ one went forth, from dark to light, nostrils' whuffing as he searched and found her.

And he faded from normal sight to the reds and oranges of the infrared, burned without flame or blaster he strolled into the dark that wasn't dark.

Heat embraced a mewing cool. And that chill, _living_, being let out a squeal of agony as it was engulfed in a furred inrerno.

Those of hot blood never considered those of cool. Thier heat was a discomfort, at times a pain. Helpless he quaked, letting out noise's too primal to be words.

Charging forward, he manged to get free. Her screams calling him forward, he had to make them see... see reason... He reached out, clawed hands groaping...

And gripped wall, his last reach missing the termostate by inches, his vision blurred and breath steaming as the infernal cold sucked down drafts of his heat. Still, though it was a miss, his arm grazed the device, the cuff of his sleeve catching the fine piffs and caused the wheel to spin and the numbers to crawl up.

Too slow, he moaned, awakening from the protracted rememberance like another would wake from a nightmare for find the demons waiting. Too slow, too soon, too quick, too much,

His eyes rolled back and he slumped forward.

The last vision was of numbers, sixty degrees became sixty one, sixty two...

Jaws gapped wide, sucking down drafts of chill and lethargy in equal dosses, he lifted a black claw to the dim floresent lighitng above. A thunk, than there was light, all to better chase back the black that was chasing after his eye and closing, closer, caught.

Above, a world away, the thermosat wheel wheezed as it chased itself, the numbers whirling towards some numeric acme, some peak clad in digits that beter cloaked survival.

Oblivious, he fell.


	2. By Degree 2

Maddness Season

By Degree: 60 and crawling...

_"Who needs 'em, claws and fangs and all? We aien't animals or nothin'... So I ask you one and all... who needs those beastie bit? And more importantly to those with the gall to argue it ain't "natural"... Why do you need 'em in the first place? We're Cornerian's for God's sake, and we live in a time of peace, civility, and civilization. Didn't they tell you that when you got here?"_

_Anti Venom propragandist speaking to an anti-declaw organization._

He law half awake, phantom warmth nudging his scales, making his eyes move though they watered and burned. Each breath came out as a dry rasp, and though in motion there was nothing of focus to his eyes. White light became white bound hands, a phantom bearing wounded digits, the claws removed and part of the bone below the claw as well.

No surgery was perfect, after all.

Not daring to close his eyes he shifted his point of focus instead.

The ghost with it's white hand followed him, nevermind he looked two places at one, two different places at once...

He saw... another pair of hands. Scaled like his, smaller, yes, but covered in petite fir-green plates. From wrist to knuckle were those plates and the fingers beyond the knuckle were delicate, long, and always a touch chill.

From knuckle up, under a swath of bandagges... there was a taintalizing scent and taste on the air. A biter aroma that alluded to blood under those wrappings. Reaching out as he had years ago, he moved to cradle those hands in his own, a sympathetic "hiss" escaping his lipless mouth.

"Who?"

"They.... they didn't fit. Uncle Laz and Auntie said that claws don't fit, aren't civilized."

His head spun, the cold would drag him down into unconcious agian, into a haze where rememberance would paralyze him and he'd bleed of his heat like blood in minutes if he didn't act.

That fact and the memories that clanged against the walls of his control with iron hands got him to get up, from fetal position to kneeling. Blinking, tongue lolled out to swipe and moisten eyes gone dry in the chill, artiface, air, he reached for the wall and pushed up.

His shaking limbs would not support...

"I expected as much since the war started." She carried on, tone cool, dispationate, with only a faint reptilian lisp to her tone. She could have been one of the barking Cornerian dogs for all the clip to her tone. He would have scowled, should have rebuked, but her wounds stood between them. So freash and raw they cut a red line between himself and his anger. This once, he'd forgive...

But he'd never forget.

She flicked her tail, as if swating something nausitaing to the side, and to that proper show of reptilian sentiment he smirked, just a little.

While she explained the cycle, propaganda to excite, than laws to conform, he folded the paper she had given him. Having opened and presuied it's contents he let his graceful hands gently refold the pamphlet. so smooth and precise his touch and pressured that the whole didn't look like it had even been opened. He was dressed as awlats, long trench coad and sharp angled hat obscuring the fin atop his head. Tan was the colof of the day, the color of Titania dust cuaght in an imaculate corner. his scales, sensing the color of his atire had tinted themsleves ever so, so his scales were not at war with his garments. He coiled while still. Lengthy and long, tall and scrawny, knee bent on one chair other -claws bared, he scorned Corneria's sneaker fetish with all his scaled sole- claws spread to thread the chill of the flooring agaisnt the whole of his floor braed foot he tapped the paper against bent knee. The long black claws of his feet clicked at random intervals, in sync with the curl and uncurl of his lengthy toes.

"I'm not geting declawed, if that's what you're asking." He hissed.

"No. I just...." her slit pupils flicked from inanimate object to inanimate object, never looking at him. He flicked his tongue out, and nodded, satisfied that there was no dry scent of fear about her.

If there had been, with that scent of blood, he wouldn't have been able to control himself, much to thier mutual sorrow.

Luckily, for now, they were spared such things.

"Corneria isn't the only palce that's pushing these laws, Leon. Katrina, Macbeth, it's part of an anit-Venom propaganda campigne."

Taking in the fact, distantly given, dully noted, he nodded his head.

"Sound's like Lylat's getting antsy." He flicked his tongue out, as if he were going to snap up all the "ants" for a quick dinner. She gurgled, as he hoped she would. Pain forgotten in a reptilian giggle. "I promise that my assiciates and myself shall exercise utmost care."

Having no lips to curl, no tears to cry they compramised. Such as it was those as they were they worked around the inconvience of facial expression. A tilt of head conveted amusement, the meeting of gazes alluded to affection. Both a tilt and gaze came his way. And to both expressions he offered unblinking scrutiny.

"What's so amusssing, young one?"

"You." She answered.

"Then," Taking hat from it's pearch upon his knee he set it over his fin, cocking it at a rougish angle, "I've done well."

She flicked her tongue out, a gesture of rudeness amongst the canine minded. To the reptilian it was merely a gesture off partaking between two familiar with one another. She drew his scent and taste, then turned on clawless feet to leave. Her heat and scent lingered though she was gone, and he was too much of a gentleman to taste the departed.

Reaching beyond the ghosts, beyond the recolection, he grasped the wall. Wall and plaster, the latter crumbled under his claws, the former held firm. With a hiss and grunt he drew close, knees skidding against the steel flooring as he pulled himself in. With shaking hands and scrabing claws, and frantic, frentic, strugled he managed to get enough leeway to stand. One foot, quaking and jerky was his foundation. Victory was victory however, and nevermind if it wasn't a stable one. He pushed up, and the foudation held, and though he wobbled like all hell he was up.

Blinking glassy eyes he stared uncomprehendingly into his own reflection for the longest time. Beyond the green-grey smear that was his scales made compact by a tiny bar of glass serving as a reflector he looked past the green. Undernieth the colors lay a series of black bars, it took a long moment before his mind could understand that the lines he was seeing were in fact numbers. The wheel with it's claw friendly grooves spun round and round, and still numbers crawled.

They crawled down

"Shit."

His breath didn't even frost the glass, didn't steam the air, his oath came out like a dying man's rasp.

Forgoing dignity, pride, and power, he set one shaking hand down into the depths of his coat pocket, fishing for his com-link.

If he dind't find it in that pocket and couldn't get it on -and if help didn't come soon- he knew he was a dead lizard. No doubts there, only bitter certianty.

Fifty six, he mused as shaking claws closed over the square edge of either what was a magazine clip or his salvation, and inching down.


	3. By degree 3

Maddness Season

By Degree: 56 descent...

_"'Enthusiasm lisps eternal internal?'" What the Hell?"_

_A common canine sentimet to an odd Reptilian bit of prose that's in popular circulation._

Such was the dictates, not of love, lust, or passion as was the crux of mamilian prose, but Reptilian prose. Enthusiasm... or rather emoting.. were highlighted by hisses and coraks amongst the scalled population. The inards would boil, toil, and churn at the slightest provoction, hence the savage, crude, sounds that marked an emotional desplay. Soemthiems, though rare in his spiece, these sensations were exagerated from mere discomfot and crossed the threashold into true illness. Such a mundane yet lethal thing, so minor and miniscule... Ironic how by merely living life and responding to stimuli you guild yourself to an early grave. The various vital systems were in constant conflict, over stumilated one moment, under stimulated the next. In retrospect, the poets saying of "at war with yourslef" was proven true. For in the darkest, subconcious levels, battles were waged but never won.

And, as it is with all wars, there were no victors. And in this war of the self you never won, you just earned a protracted defeat.

An ealry death all but garenteed, spoke the experts. Looking up at him with white coats that were made celestial bt stray beams of light and set to glowing. Sympathys tendered, wills proposed than disgarded. He'd gone through it all, then in spite defied them all. And he lived and learned, as all were supposed to in this life. Through unorthadox training picked up by vivisection he mastered the structural and mecanics of his spiece and of others, as for medicine he had a Master's already, any other biological learnings he picked up between mutilations and experimentations on the self. And, as outre as his learning, his "meds", he mastered himself with a regimine of carefully schedulted drug cocktails and venoms.

Nevermind half of his "meds" were illegal, he was beyond the law by then.

He dosed himself, to hell with the ends, means, or ethics of it all. Such consdierations were for the soft skinned, the pathetic, and he was beyond them all. A trail of raised scales ran from wrist to elbow was the mark of his disdain. A scaled span that was discolored, grew in discolowed now, and never changed in hue though the scales about them could. The pea green streaks raused no questions amongst his co-workers and that's all that mattered.

Having gnawed his black tipped claws to bloody stubs he nipped and nibled on on rathe thick pea-green line of scales. (_First injection site of a first dose, hands shaking he'd jarred the needle and ripped up a longer length than normal, when amused he'd stare at the length in detached scorn, he was beyond such petty amusement, lost in anxiety this day..._) Two other cold-bloods paced and gribbited infront of him. Thier soft skins slick with prescperation, giving them a freash from the pond look and a faint smell of chemical cleanser. Keeping his tongue behind his fangs he hissed as they passed. Still, he was one to criticize... Seating was a more wholesome a habbit than chewing though one's epidiermas off one layer at a time...

Still, he had excuses aplenty. He hadn't been this nervous since his lone vigual over his -and Sissass'- egg. Recaling how that stint had ended he crunched down too hard and was rewarded with the bitter, chill tange of his own blood. Scenting the blood, bulbious face twitching in shock, the frog looked down at him.

"Sir!" -Greek, the swollen neck bulge shrivled amongst itself even as the eyes bugged twice thier size- "You... You're bleeding!"

"Ssst!"

He reared his head back, his eyes blinking rapidly with a series of dry near soundelss "clicks". A rim of his own blood hung around the tip of his snout, a macabe lipstick.. To that sight the amphibian crept back, stretching one absurdly long leg behind the other in it's subtle retreat. The swell of it's throat was shrivled and twisted, it's eyes never deviating from the site of it's horror. The moment was broke by the opening of double doors.

They swung open, soundltess but not scentless. Taking a draft of air out of habbit, he was rewarded by the bitter tange of sterilization. To that "reward" he almost gagged, his black dark eyes rolled back, and he fought a faint.

But that was more from anxiaties than disgust, digging his claws into the arms of his chair in the nearly empty wiating room he let his eyes loll, waited for the fit to pass...

When it cleared he was along, save for one.

"Camellia." He rasped, twisting to his feet. "The doctor..."

Both eyes locked on his, black slits so like his own...

"Aunt and Uncle are in the back, talking to the doct... The doct..." The rest came out as a forced hiss, and to that his did nothing.

Staing blankly ahead the yound lizard said nothing and neither did he. Some considerate warm blood -a rabbit he noted dully- guilded the young reptile to a seat besides his. Perhaps seeing him as "a friend" she smiled, baring bucked teath to the world before wordlessly leaving.

Small, svelt, sleek, with only a faint grey cast to her scales to proclaim to the world how sich she was Camellia stood statue still. The girl's adopted family was out of the room by now, listening to a docter talk of wills, and total system collapse, of compiling system failure...

Twisting to his feet, taking her clawless tortured hands in his own he trilled low in his throat, a wordless note of pure empathy, sympathy. All the things that should only effect the warm blooded, or so he was told...

With a soft "scree" of agony she crumpled and he held on tight, be damned if he'd ever let go.

Holding tight, the edges bit and burned, just like his vision blurred. Still, he fought on, pulled out the com-link. It's edges spit static, hating the cold like he did they protested with more vigor that he could ever lay claim too.

"Wolf." He croaked. "Get down to my quarters, now!"

For the second time that day -and not the last, never the last not in this life- Leon lost track of the world for a while.


	4. By Degree 4

Madness Season

By Degree: 35 degrees

To my Readers, Almost done with "by degree" this is the last of my official outline for "By Degree" but I have one more chapter planed, if all goes well I'll move onto other Starfox stories after this one is finished. Any other StarWolf short stories or one shots will probably be compiled here... I still have to decide how I want to format this. Written to SNES Starfox 2, Star Wolf (metal version) by xxmeycxx.

Thanks for reading,

Kasan Soulblade

"It's something to do with the Reptilian brain sir. Something... unevolved... innately unbalanced. Not as a whole, but just a select few. Mammals as a whole have outgrown and surpassed thier primal instincts... but Reptiles... We just don't know how they tick... You understand, sir, it's always in them and near the surface. This ugly, bitter, part that loves the pain, gets off on the agony. We couldn't think of any other way to _deal_ with it"

Sargent Bill Grey to General Pepper; dispatch recieved after Star Wolf's capture when humaniarian protests arose when details about the detainment of prisoner Leon P. leaked. It was later revieled and confirmed to the public that Leon was set in a cold locker for hours at a time to keep him placid.

_It fell before he did, sliding through limp, clawed fingers to strike at the steel floor. With a click and a clatter the com-link fell away. His breath, while it couldn't steam, clogged in his throat and set him to panting. The moisture of what the poets called "the breath of life" becoming a cloying mist that slowly but surely was asphyxiating him. Weary, of the last, he closed glassy eyes, the fight just didn't seem worthwhile anymore._

Life was gauged by measures so strict that to deviate by a dose or an ounce was to die. He'd taught her the doses, and the methods of dosing and she was apt, able, and willing. Once of his blood was not one who was encumbered with the tainted skein of "morals" that the Cornerians slapped over their instincts of self preservation. She held no regards for what the warm blooded dubbed "laws" and "civilization", seeing the foolery and hypocrisy under the pretty coating.

The war wore one, and time passed, time and distance, as the missions become more covert and the space front more heated. Resistance rose it's damned head, but he endured, and from time to time dared a visit or two.

They made a jest of it, from time to time. On one of those rare times when the fighting had been light and close and the security mutts that Corneria had inflicted on her were easy to dispose of... Hypocrites, he'd dubbed them, and she who shared his name, the name of Pawloski, had nodded her scaled head wisely. She was always watched, the grim dour dogs of Corneria may preach freedom but they never acted on it, were all bark and no bite. So he had said and so she agreed even as he immersed the bodies in acid and she watched on, untouched by what others would have thought as "violating" the "honored" dead.

The dead reeked, tainted the air and a questing tongue with their decomposings. Much better to just destroy the carrion as quickly as possible and air out the place after.

To avoid redundancy she had paced along her lab opening this window and that, the summer air was hot, tainted with the taste of pollutants, but a virtually unindustrialized oasis to the taste buds when compared to Venom.

He flicked his tongue out, taking in the taste and texture even as he folded his lanky frame on the three legged stool -lab variety, stainless steel, without the annoying cushion for the backside favored by Canines and Avians- as his own. His scales grew glossy and bright about his ankles and knees, almost silver and sheen, looking down at once of his feet he clicked his tongue amongst his fangs in a quiet chuckle. Pointing to a span of scales on his left ankle he indicated that she had missed a spot, to that she laughed a gurgling hiss.

"You are meticulous in execution... on matters of cleanliness of course." She noted archly, head tilted to the side.

"Of coursssse." He blinked, how own head tilted to the side. "How isss buissnesss?"

"Slow." She spoke in a clipped Cornerian accent despite how it irritated him, they would have to... _talk_ about that some day soon. "I was pulled from bio-weapon research due to the scandal that my last name raised."

He blinked, rolled his head with a series of little jerky ticks that were slow in straightening but wonderful for that crick behind his skull fin.

"Since the bio-weapons fiasco I have been shuffled from every branch of the "bio" sciences, at last being put in organic fuel production and development."

No need to flick his tongue out to taste the air now. Her bitterness was so strong and acidic it seeped past his lipless mouth to tease his tongue all on its own. Neck slightly bent, the angle of his snout slightly askew, he considered her, and at last blinked.

"I of course, would happily offer my servicesss to one so disstressed..."

She shook he head, another Canine mannerism. Clearly Corneria was tainting her. When Venom took over Lylat he resolved to have her relocated as soon as possible. But that was in the future, for now, he would be content knowing that despite her unhappiness she was fine. It was an unhappiness she was inflecting on herself of course, and therefore it was ineffable to broach. There was some logic behind it he supposed, but perhaps torture had left his own reasoning... _skewed_. He never pried, never asked the obvious, the "why" she endured such small unhappiness's, why she almost always stilled his hand whenever he offered his... unique services to her problems.

"Father."

He hissed, a warning, and to that wordless rebuke she went quiet. Old lessons pounded into her skull through, scales and skin leaving a meshwork of scars when some Pro Cornerian radical had overheard and acted long ago... That experience hung between them and had left scars on them both. Unsaid, unsayable, it had become the dictate of both their lives. Never say _that_, never breathe _it_, never think _it_. One word was damning, not only because of the sentiment it aroused in him _-such a deadly, precious, feeling. It broke controls sacred, releasing the beast and saint out all at once and the wars they waged were apocalyptic-_ but the consequences of if _others_ heard it. Such a dire consequence went beyond thinking, rose the beast, the Monster, without invitation.

It was the Monster that stared through his eyes, looked down at her and set the black slit that was the center of his eyes to a sick shaking, a vile gleaming. his breath hissed through his fangs and the tensions of his muscles eased all at once making each motion liquid malice. He unwound then, stood, looking down at her from those hellish eyes.

"Excise that word from your vocabulary, Camillie."

Rebuked, she nodded. Not enough, too doggish. As clipped as any Cornerian yapper he said the last, leaning over the table that separated them until their snouts were all but touching.

"Or I'll do it for you."

She shivered, and the taint of her terror filled his mouth.

Sucking down the draft he snapped his jaws shut and turned on his heel. _Have to leave_, his reason hissed, scraping on the dry detachment that was his thoughts. _Have to leave now_. Now, before she could show any other Cornerian weaknesses to him, for in his present mood he wouldn't endure them.

Much to their mutual sorrow.

She'd be fine. Like him she sported degrees in non-traditional medicine, the degree was scrawled on their very scales.

She'd be fine.

Confident he left, confident he'd flown. Even during the worse of the war he dosed than flown. Confident, knowing that like he, she would do whatever needed to be done. Assured by her cool head and cooler blood he had been confident she'd be alright.

He never through of consequences of a blockade, having been on the "winning side" from the start. Then come the StarFoxs, the wings of their Ar-Wings dipped in the color of stars. Then came Fichina, a final victory, a final ruin.... After it came the snout aching impact as his needs met the blockade. Materials stopped coming in, he scrambled to find substitutes, gambling his very life for one more day.

_Drip, drip. _

_A bead of fire caressed him. _

_From snout tip to jaw it drizzled down like lava on pallid, frosting, scales...._

Liquid poured in a syringe, thrown down the black abyss of the throat, clasped in capsules, he gambled with his life on an elixir of continued life. And in some ways he failed, becoming frailer by trials end. Desperation made him thread out medicine and means until the very end. Then the pressure had eased, the blockade had broken no by anticipated victory but by inglorious defeat.

At wars end he had been freed of obligation so he had spent a few precious days restocking than he had faded away, living up to his inborn ability as a Chameleon to disappear. Leon had slipped a span of space made choppy by antagonism and animosity with the ease of shedding one's skin... And at long last he had returned to Corneria, returned to _her_ home.

To find it invaded, desecrated by the warm blooded mutts he had grown to despise.

Not satisfied with the answer of "I don't know" he had shown them -the whole family of interlopers- his displeasure and gone hunting.

The paper trail was a awkward one, No artful evasions and sly maneuverings, merely screens of quantity. He endured however, being pressed by a drive a desperation poorly associated with the calm, collected facade he held up for the world to see.

One article, paste and clipped and stored, about a nameless Lizard found dead from drug overdose held his answer. Time of death, two months before war's end. The cops statistic heavy stance and anticipated anti-drug speech had been the irrelevant content, and at speech's end the case had been closed. Only he wondered, knowing what he knew, and after satiating his curiosity approached the Laz's.

Their lack of sympathy or care had been most... disquieting... and he had acted appropriately due to the circumstances of his grief.

Perhaps a bit excessively, but appropriately.

He'd burned them alive, trapping them in their house while it burned. He'd been marked as an arsonist, a murderous one, and bore another black mark on Corneria's exceedingly long list of his sins.

_"No stimulus... no response... heartbeats slow, can barely feel it despite..."_

_Words and meaning faded in and out, in a place behind the blackness of his vision where the dark breathed. He lay amongst the still dark, unfeeling, untouched._

_Than, a cruel blade sheared through the black, it's edge a voice. That voice held no passion, no inflection. "Immerse him."_

_"Sir, that'll kill..."_

_"Do it! Damn your tailless, lack wit, hide! I gave a order and I _will _be obeyed!"_

Idly, upon leaving he had wondered how it felt to die by fire. Professional curiosity mind, how long did it take for the nerves to over stimulate and shut down. When the epidermis pealed off, was it pain or the realization of what was lacked that drew the screams from those salvaged from a fire. And, semantics, time, how long did it take for the smoke to clog airways and take the focus off of the fact you were boiling in your own blood?

_His questions were answered, in the rudest way possible. He screamed, a soundless reptile screech, black claws scrabbling at the dark, damning those who caused him such pain to in the least, share a fraction of the agony with him._

_The end, when it came, answered one of his questions. Death by fire, pain born of flame, did not stop fast enough._


	5. By Degree 5

By Degree: Epilogue: The Boiling Point

To my readers,

Wolf's language all by itself sets this fic at borderline Mature. What can I say? He's absolutely furious, and he uses certain harsh four word expletives to express that. I'm not going to bump up the rank of this story yet, not unless it's requested in a review. In my opinion the rank isn't quite at M, but later chapters (and parts of my next story, at least if I stick to the outline) are probably going to make this cross the misty boarder from Teen to Mature very _very_ soon. I apologize if this is going to prevent some of you from finishing the archive, but this collection of tales centers about some rather dark people doing some rather disgusting things just to survive.

Kasan Soulblade

_"The approximate boiling temperature for water is 100 degrees."_

"Yer no princess and I ain't no prince, so get your shit together Leon, we need to jet."

Silence met the statement, grim angry silence if he was any judge. Still, there was no motion to his barb. Well, no _significant_ motion. The eyes were open and flicking here and there, the chest was rising up and down, all the vital signs were up and running but no one was home.

_Lights on though, so someone's home, no one's answering though._

Clearing his throat, Wolf O' Donnell shifted closer to the lone, sprawled, figure. Leon's reptilian frame was swathed in a mix match of blankets and heating pads. Breakfast and lunch lay in plates by the Lizard's head, some dim Monkey's hope that the smell of food would bring the Lizard back to his senses a little quicker. Daring hell and worse Wolf padded along his friend's cot, picking up the plates and dumping the contents in a nearby trash bin.

To that the form twitched, one eye rolled up to consider him.

"You weren't hungry anyway."

A blink, considering Leon that would have been a nod from anyone else, to that he smiled, showed a glint of fang.

"Basssstard."

"You wanna eat? You pull yourself up and you order some food for yourself." Wolf growled, turning on his heel the star fighter padded out, his tail a swish. "Mess hall's where it normally is, you're smart, you'll find it."

Jaws gapped open, framed by the door Wolf waited; they clicked open and closed for a second. After a few fish gaps had passed Leon croaked out a few sounds that were clearly meant to be words, yet fell pathetically short of enunciation. Less than coherent more than battered, but not at deaths' door Leon fought to speak, and through words failed him the meaning was clear as was the hostility. Cheered by that, Wolf let his ears rise just a bit, first bit of perk to them in almost five days since the... incident. His tail stilled suddenly as if it were weighed down with the memories. Shaking his head like he'd shake off a dribble of chill water Wolf O' Donnell dropped smile, fake cheer, and answered all in one move.

"What in hell happened? Better ask what the hell _didn't_." Wolf growled. "Mutiny Leon, we were screwed and then some. Pigma snapped, lost a few bolts too many and tried to bump you off. Hell, he tried to bump _all _of us off. Screwed royal with the life maintenance systems in Sargasso all over base. We got a whole damn crescent de-oyxed due to the air lock trap he set, your area and a few nearby rooms were dropped to below freezing and a large chunk of the rations were... are poisoned."

Silence, then the mouth snapped shut and both eyes flicked to him, perhaps taking in the tattered state of Wolf's uniform or the droop of the whiskers along his snout or some other lizard status sensing skill that only Leon could lay claim to, but he saw how ragged Wolf was running. Not much left, to Wolf or to him, the Canine's hands were shaking and he slumped leaning against the side of the door that stood open.

"When you're up to walking I need you down at supply. We need someone competent to check the chow over; I did a quick scan but... I don't know what's bad or not. We lost some men with me learning that." A shrug, it came forced and was followed by a soft, hate filled snarl. "Whatever the bastard used on us is tasteless though, I know that considering my screw up and the fact _I_ got a small dose myself." Exhaling sharply, looking to the empty hall beyond Leon's room, Wolf shifted from paw to paw, claws going_ clickity clack_ in the not-so shinny steel floor. "You pick a fucking good time to call, you know that?"

And with that, the closest to an apology Lord Wolf O' Donnell had ever gotten, he left leaving the lizard to wonder...

And to ache, each bone protested it's existence, every scale felt scalded. The water must have been near boiling, but it's heat had brought him back from memory and from a one way trip to hell. Closing his eyes Leon sighed. For now, he wasn't getting up, he was too weak, too worn, to lift his head up. For now, he'd do nothing.

But only for now. His temper had been struck, this incident was fuel, and while the fire was but a spark for the moment it had plenty of fuel and hate was the hottest flame of them all. Curling upon himself, huddling to what little warmth exuded from his frame, Leon slid his tongue across the edge of his snout, never minding how the edge of his teeth left the sensitive organ red stripped by the time he licked the tip top of his nose.

There were a hundred ways you could kill a man, a hundred tortures so legends spoke to break a sentient to the level of a mere beast.

Before sleep took him, he decided in hate born detachment to try as many as "deaths" as he could on the Pig.

He slid from the world of the thinking to that of the dreaming on red tinged thoughts. As a soul might go to sea in olden times so did he. Letting the waves of blood draw him into the dark of unconscious he hardly bothered to look back on the glaring, gaudy, bone shores that had born him. The bitter taste of his own blood and the even more bitter metal tainted tinge -a ghost of the boiling water- replaced the scent of brine and salt in his dream. Unbothered, he slipped by into deeper and darker territories where one with a whole soul could not tread without being shattered and those who were shattered retreated to lick old wounds and rebind delusions so their glassy edges cut _just_ right.


	6. Willing

The Willing

Intro: The Offer

To my readers,

As perspective changes in this story expect some of the identifiers on this fanfic to change. Ex: the "character" I indicated s Leon, with the publishing of this story you'll see that it's been swapped over to Wolf. No fears of the content changing -save for an odd editing spree on my end-. Hope you continue to enjoy. Also, I've change the summery somewhat to better show that this is a Star Wolf archive, if I get enough plot ideas I'll toss up a Star Fox archive, but this is a "Star Wolf only" collection now.

Kasan Soulblade

Leaning forward, ears slicked back, eye squinted up in a malicious glare, teeth bared in a mute snarl, Wolf O Donnell stared a the hologram and the lupine form within. His animosity was obvious even to the most foolish o fools. Cold blue eyes - a shade akin to the glass that covered the eye that was not- stared down at him, unimpressed. Tail rock still, fur without a breath of rustle he'd give the bitch credit for having guts and control but nothing else

"Take your job and shove it, lady. This ain't the nice-guy cadets here. We don't _do_ search and rescues, we don't save the freakin' day. You want those kinda merc's go to Corneria."

To the reaffirmation of the obvious -his hate and dislike for the she-wolf and her "job"- no a bristle took the fur, no raised hackles, nothing. Leaning back in his commander's chair, a rust colored high backed monstrosity that was as comfortable as it was obvious, he drummed his laws into the arms of the throne-like seating. For a long moment her answer was silence, and that silence was broke by the _tink-a-tink_ of his claw tips tapping on the metal. She remained motionless through his tirade, not offering so much as a blink, and it was an interesting kinda still that made his ears prick. It wasn't statue still or dead still, for she breathed if nothing else. When recognition hit he fought a smirk, held the scowl, and knew at last what was holding him back from cutting the communications. She was hunter still, and that was damned dangerous. The black tip of her pearly white snout quivered a bit now and then, she rolled her shoulders once, subconsciously prepping to pounce and kill perhaps? He wished he could see her hands, hat would be the telling sign. Clench or shake, confidence or submission, what way did the bitch tumble? He'd of given a hell of a lot to know, it would have told a lot.

Running his red tongue over the sharp white curves and crevices of his fangs he waited, holding back his first impulse to just cut the communication link and be done with her. Intrigue didn't fill his wallet, and a full wallet was what he needed.

"I'm offering a million credits for accepting the job..."

To that he yawned, lifting a grey paw to cover his fangs. "Chimp change" was what the gesture said, to his indifference she sniffed. The most violent emotion out of her yet and that was budding irritation. After he'd baited and played with her, rant and raved, Wolf O Donnell most feared space rogue to make Lylat his territory managed to evoke... irritation. Cold girl, he noted, watching her with the blue span that was set over the eye that was not. It wasn't just a pretty piece of shinny plastic, but a fully functual cyber eye that had been an implant in his skull. Once set in place it made weakness into strength, possessing auto lock on technology, infra red settings -making sure the dark was never dark, that it did-, and a motion sensing alarm that woke him up when it sensed anything a move while he was asleep. Over all it was a nice little implant, not quite state of the art cutting edge but close enough to make him happy. So he watched, on more levels than one, while he yawned and acted bored to tears. The stupid git never knew she was watched, or may be she did, because she didn't move a hair.

"Allow me to be more clear, Mr. O Donnell, before I bore you to sleep. A million on acceptance, whether you succeed or not you get that million."

"And if we find something?"

"Nine million if he's alive-"

"And if he's not?" Wolf cut in. Not one to be bothered by a bit of rudeness she waited and only when she was confident he had no other questions she gave the telling detail. Her one fact not only cemented the deal, but evened out the scales of cause and effect in his mind. Like the Lizard would say, the numbers built the equation and with that final golden tidbit all the numbers fell right in place.

"Twenty million." He jerked at that, unable to help himself at that. She almost smiled a his response, seeing it, damn her eyes. "I approached the Cornerian Mercenary Association, no takers. I was, in short, told to "shove it" as you just told me."

No growl to the last, just another Cornerian be damned civility, the shaking of the head, to show mild distaste.

Despite himself he smirked, showed a bit of fang, unlike a tired and true Cornie she didn't cringe back at the sight.

"I can't imagine why you were turned down." He drawled.

"Cornerian's are... too _civilized_ sometimes." She noted, hunter-still even now that the deal was being sealed in her favor.

Interesting that.

Tinted glass, an ice skin from Fortuna's coldest lake, those were the eyes that looked back a him. Waiting, she was waiting, for the bared throat perhaps? What else could there be? She was too damn cold for this to be a Cornerian set up and Fox McCloud was to damned valiant to try subterfuge. He tossed his thoughts from paw to paw the same way he'd toss a loaded blaster, idly but minding the trigger all the same.

"Do we have a deal, Mr. O Donnell?"

Decision made he lifted a paw and met the artic span of her eyes, his ears now totally raised and the scowl sliding off his face.

"Two things."

She blinked at his audacity, only that, and he had to wonder if she weren't part Lizard. Still, with fur so starkly white as to be albino and eyes so blue that there was no way she could take claim to that genetic infirmity unless she wore damned good contacts he nixed that theory. He endured her private winter, and raised one claw tipped finger to point at the lights on his ceiling. Murky, but pure enough to catch the jag of a razor edge and set it to gleaming, the lighting did it's job and that's all that mattered.

"One, it's _Lord_ O' Donnell."

She inclined her head to agree. When he went silent she tilted her head to the side, muely coaxing him o continue. I was the most motion he'd baited otu of her yet, and it was damning. Her image fractured, texture becoming... pixilated. The smooth lines of her fur swelled until they looked blocky, the lines of her frame dimmed ever so, than with a shimmer everything was as it had been before. Still, despite the second's long lapse it told enough and he fought back the urge to swear.

So much for Leon tracking the bitch back to her hidy-hole and just robbing the tramp without taking the damned job. Now he'd have to work, damn it. Sometimes life wasn't fair. Still, he dredged up a smile and let his tial whip behind him as it would. A hole cut above the place where he normally set his ass gave him the privcy to let his tail do what it pleased. His commander's chair was more sate of the art than his patch somedays for it gave his tail the freedom of expression without anyone seeing a thing and it lacked any pinching or fur pulling that a number of other "Canine friendly" chairs made nowadays caused. Another plus.

"Two,-" A second claw joined the first, and he let her see his smile, fangs and all. "-when we start?"


	7. Chapter 7

The Willing

Chapter 1: The Hunt

To my readers,

It's been a really long time since I'd done a dog fight scene, I apologize if my effort disappoints, but I've been out of practice for a while.

Kasan Soulblade

_"Due to... security concerns you'll have to excuse my lack of straightforwardness. I shan't be able to tell you over com-link what you'll need to know, details will be provided at a very... specific location."_

_Annoyed with the girl's coyness Wolf bared a bit of fang while he snarled the expected. "That being?"_

_"I'm sure someone at that base of yours can track signal." She sniffed, "so track this signal."_

_"And find you? Just beam me the coordinates, damn you!"_

_She smiled then, showed a bit of fang with that smirk._

_"What makes you think I'd lead you here?"_

_Smart girl_.

Then and now he came away with the same thought.

As the Wolfen's steel sides thrummed about him he reclined, mulling over the tail end of their conversation. He wasn't _quite_ asleep but at the border between waking and slumber, his mind mulling over his mission even as he drowsed. This was how he spent all flights after the asteroid belt, mulling and watching simultaneously. The scenery was the same, the worlds and the debris between the worlds floated by were familiar and he gazed at the fringes of his territory with a detached indifference. Between one dull observation and the other he yawned, the eye that could closing as he slipped past the boundary of cognizance without realizing it.

XXX

Rubbing at a stiff neck he grunted, still reclined, but not bonelessly as before. Thinking of bones... His bones ached, and his muscles throbbed, both mess of organs raising a nerve based protest to cry -like always- that they hated the confines of the Wolfen's seats. While being a star pilots had it's perks -aerial combat had more glory than land based, and it's frantic speed and pacing would got his blood pounding like nothing else- the monotonous "traveling from here to there" part bit. It bit hard, with fangs of steel and right on the ass every single time.

Waking in the Wolfen also had it's downsides, aside from aches and pains it was... surreal. The control panel when in auto pilot set out a sick grey-green color that stained the walls and his arms in a color akin to rot and decay. Shaking his head to banish the images, to shake off the queasy feeling of seeing his am mired in muck-green hues, Wolf sunk his claws into the strongest patch of illumination right above the touch screen control panel. Not hard enough to tap the glass and "wake" the ship up, but enough to turn the com-link between Wolfen's on. With a sullen humm the twin screens appeared, showing what they'd shown before, Leon to his left, Panther to his right.

Like before Panther was a-snooze, Leon was a-lose. How the hell you lost playing solitaire by yourself was one of life's little mysteries. Certainly Leon knew how to cheat well enough by now, and he could cheat to spare himself the frustration of losing. but the lizard never did, even now, while Wolf watched on silent, Leon looked at the cards cradled in his claw tips and contemplated the four trails of digits and suits. A dry "hsss" slid past the lizard's lipless mouth; clearly he didn't like what he was seeing. Rolling one black slit eye up, Leon considered his leader's image that had popped up before him.

"Trouble?"

"No problems, just checking up." Wolf grunted. "You?"

"Fine." The Lizard rasped, not bothering to keep his voice down to accommodate the slumbering Panther. With a click of fang against tongue the lizard stuffed the three cards he'd pulled and tried another draw. Like a magician he spread the cards with a flourished, reading them slowly, savoring their factors and odds, the variables of each digit when compared to the trails of cards he was so meticulously building. Card one and two almost dredged up a smile, the last summoned up a scowl and oath. "Damn red two!" Leon screeched at the card.

"Huh?" With a groan to herald his awakening Panther cracked open one goldne eye, the furless scars of his face wrinkling like old leather as he passed from the world of the sleaping the the waking. "Wha is it?"

"Hst, wonderful, the Cat awakenssss."

And to that Wolf took to the better part of valor. Cutting all communications between his ship and those of his teammates with the tap of his claw before the fight really got started. He was bored, not crazy, and listening to Panther and Leon wrangle the last few hours of this stupid pre-mission assignment would guarantee his insanity.

So he cut all lines and let the silence of space, the silver chill that was the light of the stars and the black between those pin pricks of illumination fill his thoughts for a while.

XXX

Red scythed through the black, blaring out the softer silvers and obscuring the black backdrop of space in a crimson rush. The hot, harsh, luminance soundlessly issued from the canons that paralleled his Wolfen's wings, licked through space, and upon impact punched through steel into engines with a crunch you felt rather than heard. All was quiet, unless you have your com link on green. Stick to the green channel and make a killing and that's when the noise really kicked in.

Screams, curses, then static. He'd heard it all before but it never got boring, not in the least, cause there were always variables, enough of them to make the "same old, same old" from getting... well _old_.

He rose, and save for one ship having the guts to dog him the rise went as smooth as silk. From above he looked down, Leon and Panther were holding there own. Churning the pot, they licked at the edges of the formation, killing any who dared get out of it. Classic "V" formation, he noted with scorn. Corneria's one original idea, they huddled to that pride and joy, never improvising a claws width from the norm. Cornerian's were rather stupid that way. Safely above the action, Wolf let the back jets of his of his ship kick in, causing the back to rise and the nose of his Wolfen to dip. Once perfectly aligned he pulled a quick spin, and at that prearranged signal Leon and Panther pulled back from harassing the edges and sped away. One to the left the other to the right.

Silently he waited, the lights of his ship muted, add that factor to the natural black of space and the black glossy point that coated the bulk of his ship... He was hard to spot on the visual sense and radar jammers on the belly of his ship handled the rest. Open lines cut two ways though, so he kept his snout shut and squirmed as his tail twitched in irritation. A soundless growl cut across the seams of his muzzle, white serrations gleaming wetly as his licked his lips with anticipation. He waited, and listened.

Exultant...

"Captain, they've pulled back! Star Wolf's on the retreat!"

Skeptical...

"Something's not right here, they _had_ us..."

Their banter played about his ears, he ignored it. The bleating of sheep in the pen wasn't his concern after all.

Silence fell then. An artificial quiet sounded out as a result of a barked order, when at long last the commander realized something wasn't right. The soldiers fell quiet, and that stillness punctured by the hum of his blasters charging, one pair of eyes lifted up and saw darkness shattered. The eternal gloom of space was broken and set to skittering as the lights of the Wolfen burned to awful, bloody, life.

A mechanical voice sheared though the silence, uttering one damning, damned phrase.

"Weapons system is 100% operational, fire at will."

Shit, he'd have to kill Leon for leaving the automated system status report running on his ship, he'd ordered the scaled freak to disable it months ago! Ah well, make do, will do.

"You think we were just gunna let you boy's out without paying for encroaching on my territory?" Wolf grinned, the lights of his Wolfen smearing the gesture in artificial, light born, blood. "

He descended, lasers slicing through the dark, smashing glass cockpits and ripping wings to the socket. They became a blur, metal stacked on metal, as he blazed by. He dove at a diagonal, trailing right above one of the angles of the "v" and etching it in red and wreckage. The flagship at formation's heart he grazed, a taunting trail of lasers licked at the flagship's shields.

Above the screams of the dying came one call that made him really smile. If he closed his eyes he could see them, pulling perfect u turns. Twisting just so to shake off the loss of equilibrium at flips end...

"Shit, they're back on radar, they're closing in!"

"Who?"

"The other Wolfens, the rest of Star Wolf!"

"Evasive maneuvers, get out of here! Pairs, each of you lock on a different sanctuary and jet."

Not too specific, that command. Either the man giving it was a fool or well prepared. The remaining pilot's response told the tale and proved the commander to be well entrenched in the ranks of the former. They scattered, those ships, dropping every bit of training to indulge in instinct and flee. Then as the sole line that remained fractured into bits and pieces and each pilot pulled away, there came confusion. Who was to go where? With whom? The delay turned deadly as Leon and Panther slipped in, canons blazing. In seconds the cut and slash pincer, a Venom tired and true hit and run tactic, had reaped it's bloody fruit. An absent roll he pulled to deflect the flagship's fire did nothing to destroy Wolf's view or admiration of the sheer amount of wreckage floating about the remaining fighter.

Twisting up and forward he glided around the marooned fighter and it's moron occupant, one eye reflecting the spats of electricity in ice blue the other in violet and white. When he was parallel with the flagship and it's sole occupant he smirked, communication open far and wide.

"You can stop sending out that SOS signal, soldier." Wolf spoke softly, gently, only a breath or rebuke in his husky voice as he stated the obvious. "No one's coming."

"We aren't anywhere near Sargasso, O' Donnell!"

"I know that."

"This attack was unprovoked, then..." Sucking a deep breath, the ape on the other end of the transmition took courage from his draw of air. Perhaps or the first time the ape was relishing the life that was his, the seconds that his talk were buying. Hoping to cash more in he continued. "I... was hired to patrol this area, nothing else."

Delivered, soft, a mere whisper, came Wolf's O' Donnell reply "The hell you were. Leon, Panther, open fire."

One ship obeyed, Leon's. Panther was still, quiet, then in his purring voice he dared a protest.

"There may be some opportunities here, information if nothing el-"

"I don't want to hear it Panther!" Slicing a claw through the air to shut the Cat up, Wolf repeated to obvious and in his irritation for having to do so lost his mock-gentle tone. "I give an order and you obey, that's the stripe of this outfit. Either shape up or ship out in a bodybag, got it!"

"Sir."

Then as one, the three Wolfens opened fire, no shield made in Lylat could stand against a barrage like that. With the shield stripped away next came the metal, than the reward. Screams, pleas, squeals, it blended into a hearty melody that set the blood to pounding in Wolf's brain.

Lost in the lust of the kill he was content to not think, for a little while anyways.

XXX

_"Quadrants of the last transmition, Leon?"_

_"MacBeth's moon colony or thereabouts."_

_Leaning back in his chair, tail rock-still -not hunter still, he was tired all of a sudden, too worn to dredge up the energy that constant state of tension required- Wolf grunted._

_"You're too much of a perfectionist to use the word "thereabouts" lightly, my friend."_

_"It's still exuding signal, they're still outputting, not enough for me to track here.. meteors you understand, interference... but outside Metro? I'll be able to narrow down the field once we're in the sky."_

_To that he closed the eye that he cold and cursed the eye that could not._

_"Rather exotic for a set up." Leon hissed, the tip top of his tail curled, an organic underscore for his curiosity._

_"Oh, the jobs legit." Wolf grunted, a grimace finding a way on his furry face. "But she's a damned paranoid, so we'll need to keep our guard up while taking the gig."_

_A blink, then the tongue darted out to swipe at the eye that had flickured open and shut. "Gig?"_

_Lazily lifting a paw to cover the cyber eye Wolf sighed. "Just get Rookie Cat, will ya? We got a hell of a day ahead of us."_

XXX

But only for a little...

"MacBeth ain't getting any closer boys." Wolf barked over the com system. "Let's go!"

They fell in line, two as one. Their motives were wildly different, one came in loyal the other fear. Still, you made do with what you got and left the rest to rot. They blazed on, the roar of their Wolfen's filling their heads with a vibe harsher than any rock song, despite himself his claws twitched as the savage joy of kill and flight took hold and he held on to his control real tight. It was control that held back the howl that thrummed in his throat and kept him from howling like an idiot then. But the kill always left him electric and aching all at once.

Behind them they left ruin, before them a goal.

The hunt was on.


	8. The wheels

The Willing

Chapter

Wheels Go Round….

"Home sweet home, ah the nostalgia."

With a chuckle that was mostly purr Panther leaned forward. The felines black nose almost touched the glass of his ship and left a smudge on the cockpit. He looked about with obvious interest, golden eyes flicking here and there. Tracing the continents that am the like that made McBeth the land locked mountain strewn monstrosity it was…. There was something like glee in those fool gold eyes. Panther let loose another purr, clickety click went the claws against the control panel as the three hundred and some odd cat tap danced his claws against the steel in barely suppressed anticipation.

And never mind that Panther was a three hundred some odd pounds pure muscle and murder. Never mind he could in turn be calculating and ruthless, that the cat had more kills to his name than any legit vet of the Lylat wars. Hell, forget that the feline was nearly thirty!

_A yellow bus in his head he saw a little bus stuffed till bursting with kits and cubs, pups and kittens. And all the little kiddies, eyes wide, snouts gaping, had rolled right by when-_

Smashing the heel of his paw against the span _right_ between his eyes. Minding his claws so he wouldn't lose his other eye. With a soft growl he told that memory to stay suppressed like a good bit of tama. Another self inflicted smack pushed it back and brought a headache to take it's place. When he lifted his paw and looked at his monitor all was the same as before. No changes on his Wolfen, save that the fuel was getting low. Not enough to be worrisome just yet but enough to note. From the com's projector system he saw Panther was much the same as before. Rapt and eager, guard down, looking at home like those brats had marveled at the wreckage of his beloved Wolfen o-

Damn it! This time he smashed his head against the control panel.

To that Panther blinked, a slow sluggish drop than raise of the eyebrows, like a cat coming out of a cat-nip dream.

"Problems?" Caroso queried delicately.

Cradling his skull in his paws, Wolf drummed up enough civility to grunt. Not wanting to dare more than that the Lupine star pilot clicked back his ears and radiated that calm but violate packed aura of "ask me any more and I'll shoot you". To that, Panther revisited reality, wised up, and went back to acting his impassive, unflappable self.

"Not a freakin' word." Wolf snarled to his remaining, -and all too quiet- wing mate.

To that Leon followed orders, though the lizards head was tilted just so and the grey-green eye lips were rolled up so the almost covered the whole of the chameleon's eyes. Running his teeth over his blunted fangs, the lizard amused himself by not saying a word, and playing wordless ditties in his mouth.

Wolf's keen hearing picked up each and every note, and with effort he checked a snarl of frustration. After all, technically, Leon wasn't saying a word, so he couldn't get away with yelling. Roar at Leon when he was following orders was the same as asking for major surgery with no antiseptic, knock out meds, all done with dull knives to boot.

Not wanting to experience _that _again the Lupine gnashed his fangs and held his tongue.

Undisturbed, grey green backward eyelids crinkling _up_, the lizard merrily tapped out "The wheels on the bus go round and round" while Panther looked at McBeth with a face as expressive as stone and eyes that shine.

"Leon."

The tongue stills its taunting ra-ta-ta-tap, and those non-mammalian lids slid down.

"What?" Leon hissed.

"The signal, it still coming from McBeth?"

They'd already scooped out McBeths larger moon, thinking that's where it had been first. A quick flyby with scanners going full tilt and the resulting flight from the ground based auto shooters meant to take them down had proven that spot a fake. It had also tipped Star Wolf to the intents of their prospective "employers", well rather it had tipped Wolf off at least. Panther still had yapped about getting his pay, though the tight tone to the feline's voice might have meant that he was hoping to get that "pay" from the doxies hide.

Always hope for the future, and all that crap.

"Sst…" Triangular head dipped down and both eyes locked on the equipment. "Signal's strong and clear and bleeding out like a severed artery." Leon clicked his teeth together, digesting that last thought, maybe even savoring it. Who knew with cold bloods? "We could, even open communications if we like."

Refusing to answer that choice bit of stupidity Wolf leaned back as far as the seat belts would allow.

"Funny that, signal still beaming." The Star Pilot grunted, instead. "You think they'd have severed them after they realized we were coming."

"Ssst, a set up?" Leon hissed.

"Bet your scaly ass on it." Wolf snarled. "And when I get the moxie who set us up I'll slit her down the middle."

Considering _something_, Leon tilted his head to the side, eyelids sliding up, than down, than up again.

"With a dull knife." The reptile suggested brightly.

"You better believe it."

With a low growl Panther cut in. "Incoming transmition!"

"Lock on the coordinates." Wolf barked to Leon, then the eye that could narrow did as Wolf considered his next order careful and sure. "Panther…."

"Yes?"

"Open up the line, this might be interesting."

"But sir, if we…"

"I gave a direct order Caroso. Don't think for a _second_ that the fact you're piloting one of my ships gives you protection against being shot down for insubordination."

With a low grunt Panther toed the line. A familiar square box popped into being before O'Donnel's snout. The colors were washed out; the outlines ha defined mass into shapes were so thin he could look through it like a fogging window. All necessities considering that sometimes you had to shoot and talk all at once.

Recalling that face, that snow-white fur and that damned black pert nose Wolf snarled, losing words in the hot serge of hate that took him and shook him hard.

"What the hell _you_ want?" Wolf spat.

"No time." No longer cool or composed, her eyes were wide and glinting, like sun on ice. She panted softly, and his eyes picked up smears of red on her pretty white clothes. "This is a set up and this transmitions being traced. You've got mere minutes before the mercenaries hired to bring you down get to where you're at."

Slow, sure, he took a deep breath, shelved his snarls.

"Why you helping us doxie?"

"I'm not helping you, I'm helping myself."

Fair enough, more than fair really.

"Tell me what you can girl, we'll talk pay later."

To that she grinned, no shame in showing fangs and all.

"Fair enough. More than fair."

"Spill it!" Wolf barked.

Hardly one to be offended by a show of boorishness she complied.

The Willing

Chapter

Wheels Go Round….

"Home sweet home, ah the nostalgia."

With a chuckle that was mostly purr Panther leaned forward. The felines black nose almost touched the glass of his ship and left a smudge on the cockpit. He looked about with obvious interest, golden eyes flicking here and there. Tracing the continents that am the like that made McBeth the land locked mountain strewn monstrosity it was…. There was something like glee in those fool gold eyes. Panther let loose another purr, clickety click went the claws against the control panel as the three hundred and some odd cat tap danced his claws against the steel in barely suppressed anticipation.

And never mind that Panther was a three hundred some odd pounds pure muscle and murder. Never mind he could in turn be calculating and ruthless, that the cat had more kills to his name than any legit vet of the Lylat wars. Hell, forget that the feline was nearly thirty!

A yellow bus in his head he saw a little bus stuffed till bursting with kits and cubs, pups and kittens. And all the little kiddies, eyes wide, snouts gaping, had rolled right by when-

Smashing the heel of his paw against the span right between his eyes. Minding his claws so he wouldn't lose his other eye. With a soft growl he told that memory to stay suppressed like a good bit of tama. Another self inflicted smack pushed it back and brought a headache to take it's place. When he lifted his paw and looked at his monitor all was the same as before. No changes on his Wolfen, save that the fuel was getting low. Not enough to be worrisome just yet but enough to note. From the com's projector system he saw Panther was much the same as before. Rapt and eager, guard down, looking at home like those brats had marveled at the wreckage of his beloved Wolfen o-

Damn it! This time he smashed his head against the control panel.

To that Panther blinked, a slow sluggish drop than raise of the eyebrows, like a cat coming out of a cat-nip dream.

"Problems?" Caroso queried delicately.

Cradling his skull in his paws, Wolf drummed up enough civility to grunt. Not wanting to dare more than that the Lupine star pilot clicked back his ears and radiated that calm but violate packed aura of "ask me any more and I'll shoot you". To that, Panther revisited reality, wised up, and went back to acting his impassive, unflappable self.

"Not a freakin' word." Wolf snarled to his remaining, -and all too quiet- wing mate.

To that Leon followed orders, though the lizards head was tilted just so and the grey-green eye lips were rolled up so the almost covered the whole of the chameleon's eyes. Running his teeth over his blunted fangs, the lizard amused himself by not saying a word, and playing wordless ditties in his mouth.

Wolf's keen hearing picked up each and every note, and with effort he checked a snarl of frustration. After all, technically, Leon wasn't saying a word, so he couldn't get away with yelling. Roar at Leon when he was following orders was the same as asking for major surgery with no antiseptic, knock out meds, all done with dull knives to boot.

Not wanting to experience that again the Lupine gnashed his fangs and held his tongue.

Undisturbed, grey green backward eyelids crinkling up, the lizard merrily tapped out "The wheels on the bus go round and round" while Panther looked at McBeth with a face as expressive as stone and eyes that shine.

"Leon."

The tongue stills its taunting ra-ta-ta-tap, and those non-mammalian lids slid down.

"What?" Leon hissed.

"The signal, it still coming from McBeth?"

They'd already scooped out McBeths larger moon, thinking that's where it had been first. A quick flyby with scanners going full tilt and the resulting flight from the ground based auto shooters meant to take them down had proven that spot a fake. It had also tipped Star Wolf to the intents of their prospective "employers", well rather it had tipped Wolf off at least. Panther still had yapped about getting his pay, though the tight tone to the feline's voice might have meant that he was hoping to get that "pay" from the doxies hide.

Always hope for the future, and all that crap.

"Sst…" Triangular head dipped down and both eyes locked on the equipment. "Signal's strong and clear and bleeding out like a severed artery." Leon clicked his teeth together, digesting that last thought, maybe even savoring it. Who knew with cold bloods? "We could, even open communications if we like."

Refusing to answer that choice bit of stupidity Wolf leaned back as far as the seat belts would allow.

"Funny that, signal still beaming." The Star Pilot grunted, instead. "You think they'd have severed them after they realized we were coming."

"Ssst, a set up?" Leon hissed.

"Bet your scaly ass on it." Wolf snarled. "And when I get the moxie who set us up I'll slit her down the middle."

Considering _something_, Leon tilted his head to the side, eyelids sliding up, than down, than up again.

"With a dull knife." The reptile suggested brightly.

"You better believe it."

With a low growl Panther cut in. "Incoming transmition!"

"Lock on the coordinates." Wolf barked to Leon, then the eye that could narrow did as Wolf considered his next order careful and sure. "Panther…."

"Yes?"

"Open up the line, this might be interesting."

"But sir, if we…"

"I gave a direct order Caroso. Don't think for a _second_ that the fact you're piloting one of my ships gives you protection against being shot down for insubordination."

With a low grunt Panther toed the line. A familiar square box popped into being before O'Donnel's snout. The colors were washed out; the outlines ha defined mass into shapes were so thin he could look through it like a fogging window. All necessities considering that sometimes you had to shoot and talk all at once.

Recalling that face, that snow-white fur and that damned black pert nose Wolf snarled, losing words in the hot serge of hate that took him and shook him hard.

"What the hell _you_ want?" Wolf spat.

"No time." No longer cool or composed, her eyes were wide and glinting, like sun on ice. She panted softly, and his eyes picked up smears of red on her pretty white clothes. "This is a set up and this transmitions being traced. You've got mere minutes before the mercenaries hired to bring you down get to where you're at."

Slow, sure, he took a deep breath, shelved his snarls.

"Why you helping us doxie?"

"I'm not helping you, I'm helping myself."

Fair enough, more than fair really.

"Tell me what you can girl, we'll talk pay later."

To that she grinned, no shame in showing fangs and all.

"Fair enough. More than fair."

"Spill it!" Wolf barked, meager patience all but spent.

Hardly one to be offended by a show of boorishness she complied.


End file.
